I'll say little on this one, and let the obituary speak for itself:
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2122097/?page=1
Saturday 20 August 2011
Thursday 11 August 2011
Two Dreams of Reason: Of Vice and Good
Yesterday, I was part of a jury that unanimously pleaded guilty. The defendant was an 18 year-old accused of wounding with intent to cause GBH ("serious harm" (DPP v Saunders)). It was his "first imprisonment." And until 40 minutes before we reached our verdict, I would have pleaded not guilty.
I don't want give many details of the case (as I don't know if it may affect the victim's reputation), but suffice to say: if you are a homosexual, I don't recommend oral pleasure on a dark, foggy canal in the middle of the night. You may get spotted, then chest-slashed by a cocksure youth out to prove himself the big man.
(The doubt arose as to whether it was him or his small mate who did it; watching the CCTV footage close-up clarified my doubt.
It was my second trial; many of us agreed on our first that though we pleaded the defendant was not guilty on the evidence, our gut instinct was that he was guilty; also that this minor incident didn't deserve to go to trial despite the defendant's potential guilt)
It's the kind of thing you might see on TV. What particularly struck me were the roles of prosecution and defence.
The prosecution must make you sure the defendant did it. For him, the victim is an upstanding citizen and almost always right; the police are heroes and almost always right; and the defendant is a lying cesspool of vice. He argues humans get vicious, and this defendant (in particular) is criminally vicious.
The defence must prove that the victim is lying or mistaken, the police evidence is flawed and the defendant is alright. He sees the good in the accused, and looks out for alternative explanations, minority reports. Here the possibility was of a delayed reaction by the victim, and him being stabbed earlier. But the victim's account was much more convincing when matched with the CCTV.
Though the defence's argument was ultimately unconvincing, I found his Yorkshire flair persuasive. The prosecution was even more of a character, a deep-toned, but incredibly posh-accented black man. He had this cool vehemence that was gripping.
Thinking about these two led me into a discussion with Emily about my aversion to criticising specific people and things in my direct experience. How I've found it leads me to brooding dark visions of humanity, a pessimism that I prefer to do without. I prefer to see the good in people. She claims she can make me see that a sharpened critique of my immediate fellows need not lead to pessimism. I'm intrigued.
I don't want give many details of the case (as I don't know if it may affect the victim's reputation), but suffice to say: if you are a homosexual, I don't recommend oral pleasure on a dark, foggy canal in the middle of the night. You may get spotted, then chest-slashed by a cocksure youth out to prove himself the big man.
(The doubt arose as to whether it was him or his small mate who did it; watching the CCTV footage close-up clarified my doubt.
It was my second trial; many of us agreed on our first that though we pleaded the defendant was not guilty on the evidence, our gut instinct was that he was guilty; also that this minor incident didn't deserve to go to trial despite the defendant's potential guilt)
It's the kind of thing you might see on TV. What particularly struck me were the roles of prosecution and defence.
The prosecution must make you sure the defendant did it. For him, the victim is an upstanding citizen and almost always right; the police are heroes and almost always right; and the defendant is a lying cesspool of vice. He argues humans get vicious, and this defendant (in particular) is criminally vicious.
The defence must prove that the victim is lying or mistaken, the police evidence is flawed and the defendant is alright. He sees the good in the accused, and looks out for alternative explanations, minority reports. Here the possibility was of a delayed reaction by the victim, and him being stabbed earlier. But the victim's account was much more convincing when matched with the CCTV.
Though the defence's argument was ultimately unconvincing, I found his Yorkshire flair persuasive. The prosecution was even more of a character, a deep-toned, but incredibly posh-accented black man. He had this cool vehemence that was gripping.
Thinking about these two led me into a discussion with Emily about my aversion to criticising specific people and things in my direct experience. How I've found it leads me to brooding dark visions of humanity, a pessimism that I prefer to do without. I prefer to see the good in people. She claims she can make me see that a sharpened critique of my immediate fellows need not lead to pessimism. I'm intrigued.
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